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| Of Nightmares; Writing Excercise #2 | |
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| Topic Started: Tuesday, 18. June 2013, 06:02 (556 Views) | |
| Caston Kane | Tuesday, 18. June 2013, 06:02 Post #1 |
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Don't Be Jealous.
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Here's another writing excercise! No. 2: Of Nightmares Prompt: Chill us to the bone by putting together a post centered around your character having a nightmare. Everyone knows that vampires are monsters, but let's take a glimpse at what monsters frighten the monsters. Ghosts of the past? Ghosts in general? Regrets? Closed places? Spiders? Clowns? Nickelback? Literally, get into your character's head, and show us all what really scares them. PS - Watch out for this dude in a fedora and a Christmas sweater... I don't know why, but he's pissed. |
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| TapestryofShame | Tuesday, 18. June 2013, 06:07 Post #2 |
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Queen of Love (wut?)
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I lived in Nickelbacks home town for 8 years... Can I describe that? |
![]() "I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse. | |
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| Caston Kane | Tuesday, 18. June 2013, 21:30 Post #3 |
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Don't Be Jealous.
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Yes. |
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-------------------------------------- Caston's Battle Music ![]() English Spanish American Sign Language | |
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| Tzippy | Thursday, 20. June 2013, 16:01 Post #4 |
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Ancilla
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Alrighty. I have two offerings. One for Moshe and one for Sakhr. The first is a bit of a writing and the second a piece of art. Moshe's Nightmare "Didn't know we got Pakis in here. Figure they'd pack your crazies back where you came from." Moshe glanced up, regarding the other man who had approached him blearily. He couldn't see really well at the moment and everything seemed washed out anyway. A combination of the pills and the fact his glasses had been broken when he'd originally been hauled into this place. A psychotic break, the doctors had told him. He hadn't come quietly, they had said in those careful tones he had learned to loathe in adolescence. His arm had been snapped along with the glasses when the police had finally managed to get him on the ground. The injury didn't bother him too much though. The pain that should have been there seeming far removed. Probably another result of the meds. "I am not Pakistani," he finally replied, not looking to the man that was a blur anyway, all pale features and pale hair and pale eyes, almost blending into the sterile white walls. He was vaguely reminded of Jhael and had to smile a little at the thought. The smile faded when he remembered that Jhael hadn't been real. Another phantom of delusion. Like Alarik. Like Dawid. Like vampires and Masquerades and things that went bump in the night. The world hadn't been wrong. Just him. Sakhr's Memory ![]() |
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| TapestryofShame | Friday, 21. June 2013, 21:43 Post #5 |
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Queen of Love (wut?)
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It was raining. The crystal clear water falling in thick rivulets down the pane of glass I was looking through. I knew this was a dream, as I was standing with my hand on the cool glass as the sun periodically broke the clouds and caused millions of rainbows to refract from every direction of the falling diamonds of water. I was up in a tower, one that doesn't actually exist but in that strange and dreamy place it doesn’t matter. Chicago lay before me, the line of the city I love perfectly defined. I wanted to smell the city and feel the rain on my skin. "Grave Digger" by Dave Matthews plays in my mind. I can't hear myself, but I start to sing the lyrics into the tattoo of rain that thunders on the tin roof. The dream shifts, and I'm standing at the door, also made of glass and staring at the drop off beyond. I'm hundreds of feet in the air, but when I open the door onto a great expanse of nothing but cityscape far below me I'm not afraid. The sun is piercing through the rain, and my old worn converse sneakers are leading me onwards. The rain as I step out is warm summer rain. The heat of the June sun in every droplet kissing my skin in ways I haven't been touched in decades. I'm standing on air and it’s not strange but seems perfectly normal, as I begin to walk towards the Hatters in the distance. There's someone there I want to see, but I can't quite remember who. It's like that in dreams, you have some sense of who you are but there are huge parts of non sentience where you're just sort of an observer without a past. A witness. The city beneath me is alive, it seems to swell and collapse with gentle breathes. All the colors seem to bloom into flowers around me, then break into pixelations and become themselves again. It's that feeling when you're on hallucinogens, and everything around you is beautiful, magical, and a sense of perfect peace has drowned your soul in blanket to quiet bliss. Adventure lies before you, and there's no way to deny that feeling. You are at its command, and so my feet go. At some point I've touched down to the streets, or I'm suddenly just there. The rain is still falling, but it's so warm and wet and comforting that the idea to seek shelter never enters my mind. I'm still singing the same song soundlessly. The Mad Hatter’s lay ahead, larger than life and full of the undead. My heart swells with pride and wanting as I get closer, the doors to the first floor are several times larger than they should be, but this doesn't occur to me. I'm inside the doors without ever opening them, crossing the smooth expanse of the dance floor and heading to the stairs to Elysium, this is the place that my heart has called home the longest. It's full of Kindred. I can't put names to them, but I know their faceless faces. It's like they all have no features, but on another level I can see every detail of them. The strange duality of my vision makes my head spin with confusion. I'm slipping from that wonderful peaceful place and into a place of panic, where I can't find names and I don't remember why these people are important, I just know they are. Arms enclose around me from behind, and I feel the heavy weight of the man I recognize on a bestial level. The scent of him fills my mouth with yearning, and my body trembles for a touch it instinctively remembers. I want to scream and fight back, and suddenly I realize that I haven't a voice to scream and fight back with. I've been singing silently, nothing has been passing over my mute lips since I left the tower. It didn't bother me before but the impact is dizzying now... And I remember, memories that during my days I push away. I'm not standing in Chicago; I'm in a small cement room with low hanging beams and only two light bulbs that dangle from overhead. They're too bright, and I'm strapped down by chains with my face upwards. My tongue is hung above me from a clamp, it's shadow cast over my eyes so that I don't have to entirely squint to see. I have a mouth full of my own blood, and the pain that holds my body have become so constant it's hard to sort out if I've ever not felt this way. “I thought maybe if we took your tongue out for you, it would loosen it up a little.” The voice doesn't have a body in this dreamy memory, but I know that outside of this strange place it did. That in mexico, where this happened this voice had a female face, and wore a doctor’s robe and she had a mouth with a forked tongue, and an extra arm that functioned in creepy jerky movements. I'm not really here I tell myself, but I feel like I am none the less. “But then I thought... Wait, even better. We'd use the tongue from that little bitch of yours. It was loose and spilling all its guts. Too bad she didn't know anything at all. You do though, and maybe her tongue will do the talking for you.” The voice says, and I remember the feeling of Mysty LeClaire's tongue being stitched to the place where my tongue ought to be. I don't want to be in these memories; I don't want to feel these things. The feeling of my ghouls tongue in my mouth was horrific, the way it touched my teeth and invaded my space and caused me excruciating pain every time I tried to use it, which doesn't work. I don't want to relive it, once was enough... But I can't remember getting my own tongue back. Is the tongue in my mouth still Mysty's? No No it couldn't be, Right? God, these memories... flashing, melting, becoming each other and bleeding back and forth. They're so confusing. I'm chained! No... I'm being held. I'm being held by him again, safe and at home in Elysium. Arms I loved and despised all at the same time are offering me safe harbor. Thank god it's him; thank god I'm not there anymore. I inhale the scent of him, realizing that I hear a heartbeat within the chest I am crushed to. It's not him, it's my father. I look up into his faceless visage, imagining the one I saw in the hospital when I would sneak in at night to hold his hand and ease him into the next world. He had been so old then, shrunken and a husk of the man I remembered. He's dead, I watched him go. But he smells just right, and he feels so warm. I close my eyes; bury myself into him, sobbing in silence into his shirt. It doesn't feel right but I want it to, and he smells like grease and home. I want him to make it stop, cool the overwhelming panic and pain. And then it's too hot. When my eyes open, the roof of the Elysium is gone and the rain is splattering down unevenly. Now and then -alongside the blue and silver drops - a small red spark flies and hits the ground with a hiss. The red and the blue are beautiful together, but the burning overtakes the rain. It's raining fire on everyone I know and love. My father is burning, and I push away and stumble backwards. From the floor I look up at everyone standing still, empty faces turned to the burning sky. They don't seem to be bothered by it, they're bodies alight with blazing fire but they're peacefully burning in silence. The sight is something beyond horrifying, and my mind almost refuses to see it. Everything stands in a hyperrealistic state, like the vision before me is made of paint and brush on one of my canvases and can not truly be happening. “NO! Stop, do something! Run, hide, rescue yourselves!” I want to scream and shout, but I'm as useful as I was as a child. I kneel down and clutch my head, not wanting to see the haunting vision in front of me and finding myself frozen with shock and revulsion. This is a dream. This isn't real; it can't be, because when I stretch my arms in front of me I am not burning in the sun. I stand and reach my arms all the way up into the sky, they slide for miles and grab hold of the edge of the world and find purchase there. I grip with everything I have, and pull. I draw night in; a cold deep blue blanket across the cloudy, orange sky of fire. It's complete twilight, that beautiful time of night where the stars shine their brightest and the night is at its coolest. Darkness and shadows fall, and the flames on everyone begin to burn out and they stand unharmed. Suddenly they all have faces, beautiful faces that I love. Everyone has a name again and I'm so happy to be... burning. My hands are in flames, and no one notices as I curl up into a ball. This is a memory too. This happened before except Marcus put me out. Where is he with the blanket? No one's coming; no one's saving me this time. I've no voice to cry out with, and I can feel the fire licking at my skin like hot barbed tongues. I can feel the meat thicken and turn to char, and I'm screaming in silence. I writhe onto my back, and then I cannot move at all as I stare up into the endless night, and the cool voices around me speak casually and laugh the way they did on the best kind of nights in Elysium. Leo woke with a raging gasp of breath; the undead heart that still beat in her chest was wildly flapping its wings for escape. She felt sick in ways she hadn't since the night her sire created her, when she had thrown up the last human food she had ever eaten. Her stomach knotted and sagged, her throat burning as she gasped for the air her body no longer needed. A cool trickle was running down her face, and she tasted blood in her wide open mouth as she gasped. A hand ripped the blankets off her, throwing them across the room as her hand smashed to the phone on the bedside to check the time: 4:30. It was too early to be awake, she could feel the sun outside the blackened room pressing upon her senses in a sleepy panic. Bare feet hit the cool hardwood floorboards as she stumbled from the bed, trying to contain the nose bleed that came from being awake during the sunlight hours. She flicked the dimmest stage of the bathroom lights on, hands smeared with blood from touching her face, leaving hand prints on the taps as she stumbled into the shower. Dimly she remembered that the water was her refuge, some instinct in her had the need to get into it... and she fell into the bottom with a heavy sagging of her knees as she found the most comforting of positions her body had to offer, and became a fetal ball. Edited by TapestryofShame, Friday, 21. June 2013, 21:46.
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![]() "I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse. | |
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| Frankie O'Hara | Tuesday, 23. July 2013, 01:03 Post #6 |
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The Mohawk
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Frankie frowned as she moved down a hallway. She wasn't sure where she was, but she stopped as she noticed the school name on the wall, "No..." She hated this place it was too much...too much of a reminder of how weak she was...how weak she still is... Both hands came up to itch at the buzz of hair on the sides of her head, but there wasn't the familiar radical buzz it was the lanky dull dirty blonde of her hair before she was cut it...before she dyed it. It sent shivers down her spine and then there was an echo... That was new in this nightmare...there was silence, isolation reminiscent of her childhood, no one talked to her she spent so much time alone, ran from her problems. She hated it so much it was like drowning and the dream didn't end until she'd spent an eternity, it seemed like, sobbing into the emptiness and listening to it echo back it. But now...there was someone else. She frowned and went at a steady run towards the noise. She could see the doors to the small school gym and pushed them open. She saw a cowering form lying on the ground. She stood shell shocked for a moment and then sprinted forward, she recognized that hair, recognized the sound of that voice. "AGUIRRE!" The shape barely quieted, but slowly as Frankie's feet pounded on the wood floor, it got softer. She knelt down and tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently pushed away the hair shadowing her face, "Aguirre..." Her face was so pale...she swept her eyes down the woman's form and immediately saw the knife jutting from her chest. Her jaw clenched as she tried to resist the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. That's my knife...I...I did this... She lost control...this was her fault...her best friend...she was dying and it was her fault... She felt weak...she was too weak to resist her beast's anger. She shivered and shook her head and reminded her herself, it wasn't her beast that did it, it was her weakness that let it escape and her own rage that incited it. "This is my fault...I'm so sorry, Aguirre..." There was a sound of nails on wood and feet scuffing. She looked up and she saw herself reflecting back but it wasn't her dream self, her weak self, it was herself, pink mohawk and all, but the sick smile and the red eyes and fangs, this wasn't her...it was her beast and upon her realizing this it met her eyes and growled throatily at her, and against her will Frankie flinched...It neared and the smile returned as its twisted hands landed in the cooling pool of Aguirre's blood. Frankie pulled the Texan to her breast and cradled her like a child and rocked her as she gave husky, slow breaths, trying to use any strength she had to protect her from the Beast that had already twisted the knife into her chest. Frankie closed her eyes and placed chapped lips against her forehead and whispered, "I wish I could've been stronger..." She pulled back and the only thing she heard was a rasping whisper as the Texan's features pulled back in a look so akin to her mothers drunken rages, "You're weak...this is all your fault...I wish I'd never meet you!" Her beast looked up and the smirk was that of agreement...it laughed and Aguirre grunted in pain and whispered, "I hate you..." She let out another rattling breath and she died...Frankie sobbed embracing the cold body trying to revive her with the warmth of her hold, but it was too late and she woke up as the Beast wrenched it from her arms, threw Frankie away, and dug its maw into the neck of her friend twisting until it came back with a hunk of flesh amongst its teeth. It dropped the corpse and spit away the bloody tissue and laughed...laughed at her weakness, laughed at her pain... |
![]() OOC - Frankie's hot pink font color: #F660AB | |
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| Mac | Thursday, 29. August 2013, 22:53 Post #7 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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Why the fuck am I pushing a shopping cart through Walmart? It smells clean and chemically. It's half full of real food, like leafy green vegetables and organic milk and shit like that. I thought that sort of nonsense was in movies, organic milk really exists? Who the fuck wants to drink that shit, milk is nasty. Curdles with the booze and comes up chunky. The only thing a cow is good for is cheese and a big old slab on the plate, this milk crap is useless. Everything feels like it's in focus to much, it's to sharp and my body doesnt feel right. Probably poisoned from all this Organic food in the cart. God it's busy, way to busy in here. People are walking around in close quarters, brushing up against each other and wearing these big old creepy smiles like the world is a happy fucking place and they're just so happy to be in it. One girl's head is the giant yellow Walmart happy face, just walking around with a marker slashing signs. When she does this, everyone yells and cheers even when she's only slashing off a penny. I'm so confused, since when do people have giant yellow happy face heads? Why isn't everyone screaming and running away, she looks like a fucking monster from your nightmares. I leave the shopping cart in the middle of the isle and walk away. “Hey, Congratulations!” Some old woman with a little flowery hat and gray hair is talking to me. I don't want her talking to me, so I just turn around to get the fuck out of this bizarro scene. She's on the other side of me faster than I can turn, fucking bitty is a vampire isn't she? I snarl and reach into a pocket to find my lighter and spray cannister of lighter fuel. This is just way to weird to stick around for, I want out. My hands meet a huge, fat belly instead of slender hips and loose pockets. I look down, and my mid section is sticking out so far I can't see my feet. “When are you due?” The old lady asks, reaching forward to touch my pregnant belly. I'M NOT PREGNANT! WTF! I can't -get- pregnant! Get me to a fucking abortion clinic NOW! I'm not a mama! NEVER BE A MAMA! God, what kind of fucked up spawn would -I- create? I actually stammer in response to this little old woman, whom I'm suddenly so afraid of touching me I want to scream like a girl and slap her away. I have a -slap- instinct, not a punch one. Now I need to shoot myself on top of this whole mess. I turn and just sprint away, and I hear her calling after me about how excersize is good for the baby. I suddenly realize why everything's fucked up, I'm SOBER! That needs to change, and change this instant. I leave Walmart, and part of me is afraid for a moment that something strange is going to block the doors and trap me inside this hell hole longer. It doesn't and I get outside and spot the Booze shop immediately. Its dead ahead across the tiny parking lot. Everyone is packing their groceries and laughing, some are even singing little jaunty songs. Hands wave in the air at me, and people call out congratulating me again and again. I search my pockets for a gun to shoot them all, but I only find a wallet full of credit cards and keys. I click the button on the keys, and a mini van to my left beeps. I throw the keys at it, and keep running. I push through the doors, and head straight into the hard liquor section. Its heaven in here, rows and rows and rows of my favorite things. I immediately reach for the vodka, the good stuff considering the situation. I have credit cards, might as well blow them on something classy before I blow myself and whatever hideous spawn is inside me to kingdom come. When I get the cap off and lift it to my mouth, water flows over my tongue. I spit, stare at the label. The letters are kind of loopy looking, but it's definately Vodka. I throw the bottle on the ground and it smashes with a sound that alleviates some of my anger. I grab another bottle, this time another brand and drink again. More fucking water! I begin going through bottle by bottle, and it's all fucking water. WHAT THE FUCKING HELL! I'm getting angrier and angrier, and no one is fucking noticing. When I hit the cashier with a bottle, he laughs and asks me when my baby is due. I'm so angry I try and choke him, but his skin is oily and ungrippable and my hands just pop off. When I read again he seems to bend and sway and the image wont harden under my grip. He then smiles and wishes me a good day, and offers to help me to my car if I need assistance. I then begin screaming, a full out temper tantrum and try and run out of the shop. I need to find a gun, I need a gun. This needs to end, I can't take this. I'm back in Walmart, I must have brought myself here but don't remember. Must have been the tantruming. People are smiling, hands are reaching out to touch my belly as I run past. When I get to where the gun section should be, there's a fucking maternity ward. The security guards come forward with big creepy smiles and open hands. “Oh Tosh, you're ready to have the baby! Just this way! We'll take you to your doctor.” God no! I turn to flee, but they're on me so fast I dont even know how it happened. They're pulling me backwards as I scream and kick, asking anyone to shoot me please. They're acting like nothing is wrong, as I struggle to get away and the Doctor comes out from behind the curtain. He's smiling like the world is the happiest, brightest place in the universe. That face should never smile like that, he certainly never did while I was alive. I killed him, I watched him die... Why is he so happy to see me? “Oh Tosh, the babies due! You must be so happy! You'll make such a good mother.” I wake myself up screaming. I'm disoriented, because I sleep so fucking hard I never wake myself up. The world inside my crumbly shack of rubble smells dirty and like booze, exactly the way it should. I find the Vodka bottle, and drown myself in it until I fall back to sleep. |
![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
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3:26 PM Jul 11